Tag Archives: sadness

Consider Every Little Nuance

15 Wednesday Apr 2020

Posted by in Change is a coming, Learning and Evolving, mental health, People, The continuing adventure, The good, the bad and the ugly.

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I posted this on my newsfeed a few days ago. It touched me when I read it because, at times, I have felt overwhelmed; not by the thought of the Pandemic, but the hysteria that has reared it’s uglier head as a result of it.

So before I go any further I want to stress: for those who may choose to see what they want to see in the midst of the hysteria that seems to be gripping the world, this post DID NOT advocate going outside and breaking any lockdowns.

So please if you feel the need to comment about self-isolation then read the post again, and again. See every little nuance.

This is a post about understanding: merely a post asking people to understand that what may not be essential for you, may be crucial for someone else. The items (paint and compost) are items that are sold in most supermarkets across the world, so someone could buy them whilst shopping for food.

RD posted it on various sites and a lot of people thanked him for saying what they were afraid to say. Yes, ‘Afraid’! Because they thought they would be shot down in flames by the very people who had also commented in the fashion of ‘You should not break the self-isolation rules.’ And worse….

It highlighted to me the hysteria that has taken over the world. With self-appointed Facebook police jumping on anyone who dare not share the herd mentality, or question some of the things that are happening. The media who are not (or haven’t been until recently) asking the questions that should be asked.

Like ‘What’s the fucking plan?’

In England we clap for those in the NHS bravely doing such a hard, emotional, heartbreaking job. But we don’t question the fact that the NHS is still woefully without the equipment needed. We are shown arial views of car parks, told they have been set up as testing sites, but they are always empty, with frontline NHS staff refused tests, whilst ministers get tested instead.

I have seen very few people question this, why?

All over we have care homes, full of the most vulnerable in our society, especially where Covid-19 is concerned, left to fend for themselves. In the UK they were not even being counted in the ‘stats’, why? Because they don’t count? It is only now, months into this pandemic that the questions are tentatively being asked, and even they are not enough.

Why is nobody as outraged about any of this as they are outraged if their neighbour decides to buy paint? I would ask why over and over, but I know why, because they are not interested, they are only interested in attacking others, it is so much easier than considering something that is actually quite frightening, if you consider every little nuance.

In France there are people who recently asked why there were camper vans parked in a local car park, they were outraged that people were on holiday. The people in the campervans lived there! But those asking and shouting loudly, didn’t even stop to consider that some people don’t live in houses. Because surely everyone must live in a house!

These are the very people who are so outraged if someone dares to buy something that may well keep them sane, and stop them from killing their family. There is such an irony that these people cannot see their own mental frailties.

Recently I changed my profile picture to this.

I kid you not when I say that someone commented on how we were not social isolating! It was taken in December (my hat is a clue) but they just jumped in, not even an inkling to consider any little nuance, like my hat!

My son answered them before I had a chance to.

Why is the general consensus not considering the depth of damage that will be caused in mental health? The children who are trapped with an abuser, day in, day out, who will take that into their lives in the future. The partners trapped in an emotionally abusive or violently abusive relationship, the people locked in flats with their loved ones who suffer from dementia, mental health problems, drug addiction. Those who will lose all they have worked for, their livelihood, their homes. Who is giving any thought to those who have no food? Has anyone considered the impact of this lockdown, which will, over the years, kill more people than Covid-19 itself?

As someone recently wrote you have to give people a deadline, something to look forward to. Although it may not exactly appear as promised, it still gives people hope.

The lack of emotional intelligence in this whole sorry saga has been highlighted to me time and again. The herd mentality to only see what we want to see, and attack any who don’t want to be part of the herd has been depressing.

I fear that more than Covid-19. I fear what the world will become.

Rosie

Considerations

05 Sunday Jan 2020

Posted by in Change is a coming, For the live of dogs, Learning and Evolving, mental health, My family and other furry creatures, Reflections, The adventures of living life in the French countryside, The continuing adventure, Us

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Inspired by my fellow blogger and cyber friend Kat I have included this picture. It pretty much sums up how we feel right now: incredibly sad.

There is a pervading air of sadness in our house since Molly died, she was here so long. This picture of the weeping willow weeping into the lake, all of which has been painted by the Hoar Frost, reminds me of a time of silence, and is pertinent to how we feel. Right now we need silence and solitude, just with each other and our remaining pets, who are also showing signs of grief.

But it is also pertinent because the Hoar Frost eventually thawed, and the willow came back to life in the spring; as we will too, once we have processed and sat with our pain. I know this.

I have been reading blogs today, and I was inspired by one to write a letter to myself about what I hope this year will hold, and what I hope for, and where I hope to be by the end of the year. For me that will be a good exercise because (as with all endings) I have been reminded (again) that life is short and to seize the moment. But I also know that what we think we want is not necessarily what we need.

It was not just a New Year, it is a new decade, and R/D and I had already decided to reflect on where we were ten years ago, and all the things that happened to us in our life. Not least moving here, and falling in love with Welsh Terriers. It is a poignant reminder that at the end of this decade they will not be here with us, another reminder to cherish every moment.

We will also reflect on what we have achieved, what we thought we wanted back then, and see how much of what we thought we needed we didn’t need at all. I will share some of that on here.

So today I am going to take the Christmas decorations down, it’s time to move into something new, and I am going to open my new journal (how apt that the other one ran out just as the new decade came into being!) and do my form of meditation. But not before I found out my journal from ten years ago and read what I wrote then.

Mellow New Year

Rosie

The biggest green eyes in the world

01 Wednesday Jan 2020

Posted by in Change is a coming, Friends, My family and other furry creatures, The adventures of living life in the French countryside, The continuing adventure

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Pat a cake, pat a cake

Bakers man

Bake me a cake as fast as you can

Pat it, and prick it

And mark it with C

And out it in the Oven for Molly and me

Molly Kitten was born in our cupboard on the 1st of May 2000. We told Tom he could pick a kitten from the five born, and he picked another one. But this naughty kitten picked us, and she would come out of the cupboard and do naughty things to make us laugh, needless to say Tom changed his mind.

Molly died in my arms at twenty minutes past midnight last night. She saw in the New Year in my arms, held close and loved, just as I promised her she would be.

I know she was loved from the moment she was born, until the moment she died, she was my beautiful girl. All her life I have recited the above nursery rhyme to her, whilst she let me pat her paws; and at the end, during the closing days, I would stroke her and whisper it to her as a comfort.

She had many names, not least Cowbag Kitten because she was so naughty; but through her long life she was also known as Princess Tippytoes, Madam Pomfrey, Shark tail, and most of all my beautiful green eyed girl.

When we brought new kittens home she would immediately become their surrogate mum. I know Tilly was coming to take her home, we lost Tilly nearly two years ago. Last night Daisy lay behind me on the sofa as I held her, and Diddies lay close by. Everybody loved her so.

When RD was gone during ‘The War’ Molly would lay one side of me on the sofa, with our old Westie, Snowy the Dude, on the other side of me. It was as if they were hugging me, telling me I would be okay. I know that dog will be part of the contingent who came to take her to rainbow bridge.

She never liked the cold, my Mil Mol Hol Pol. She was never happier snuggled somewhere warm, or in the hot sun in summer. When she was two years old she jumped out of our bedroom window onto,our flat roof and landed in two inches of snow, the look in her face as she turned to me and meowed, as if to say WTF is this?

She was a prolific hunter, especially birds, so when we moved her to live by the sea and a seagull that was bigger than her landed on our balcony one day she just stopped in her tracks, and looked at Rich and Meowed loudly, as if to say ‘why have you bought me somewhere where birds can eat me?’ It didn’t stop her climbing up the roof to take a look at their nest though, resulting in both her and me being dive-bombed by angry seagulls.

She was fourteen when we brought her to France, she retired to the continent and spent her last days in front of the fire or laying in the baking sun. She loved milk and cream, and food, and ate up to her last day.

She didn’t want to go, she wanted to stay forever, because all she had ever known was love, and all she ever gave was love. But I whispered to her last night to let go, go with them and wait for me, until I arrive one day.

We have to bury her today, I know that what is lovingly wrapped in a towel downstairs is just Molly’s shell, her spirit has gone, but I will find it so hard to leave her in the cold.

Farewell my beautiful green eyed girl, I promised you that you would die with mummy and daddy and you did. The kitchen was empty this morning without you there to meow hello.

I lied I will cry, I am crying now.

Mummy

I’ve changed: Christmas

24 Tuesday Dec 2019

Posted by in Learning and Evolving, People, Reflections, Simple things, The continuing adventure

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I wrote in a recent Post that Christmas has now changed for me, of how I used to love Christmas but now, not so much.

Years ago I used to be one of the leaders in joining in all things festive, and the hysteria that entails (in England for sure); but now I see Christmas as a poignant time of year, where there are so many people who are struggling, and do not feel the ‘festive spirit’.

From early in October the shops are stocking Christmas items, the adverts start to appear on the television, all of them are happy adverts, imply that everyone is happy, should be happy, will somehow be odd if they are not. How can you not be happy at Christmas right? All people are happy, the families are happy, you have to have matching pyjamas, a new dining table and sofa, games consoles, and even Kevin The Carrot from the Aldi supermarket campaign, over which people have been fighting in the car park because the toys were in short supply. How festive!

But now I look at things differently when I watch those ads; I find myself thinking of the people who will get into debt to buy their children presents and I shudder. I know some some people will hate this post but I think it needs to be considered: I think of all the people who are alone at Christmas, like the old man in the advert for ‘Help The Aged’s Ribbon campaign, and I think of the constant ramming of ‘Happy Christmas’ down our throats which just compounds peoples sadness and sorrow. I find it all so insensitive at times.

Then there is the expectation of ‘happy families’ followed by the disappointment and despair when everyone argues, and it doesn’t fulfil the ‘image’ of what people expect. In fact today, listening to the radio, I heard a cleric say how he refers to Christmas as ‘The Season of Disappointment’. I get that.

I said to RD recently that if I lived inEngland now I would spend Christmas providing Christmas dinner to the homeless. I would not fill our fridge with food that would be thrown away in January: the copious amounts of cheese, the trifle, the huge bloody turkey. I would not buy turkey and beef, and pork, all left after boxing day with nobody to eat it. These are lessons I have learned since living here, and these are lessons I am grateful for.

My last post was about now my son turned up here in France completely unexpectedly, even now the thought of the moment of when he walked in our gate and I looked out of the window and saw him standing there still makes my eyes fill with tears. He has gone now, more of that in another post, but that was the best gift I could be given, time, and memories, and knowing he loves me so much he wanted to give me that surprise.

I am blessed, but I say a prayer for those who are alone, exiled from those they love, for whose who have lost loved ones, the people who have nowhere to live, and the list sadly goes on and on. We have been without water, I now respect that commodity because to not be able to even wash your hands in running water is something few of us understand. Trust me when I say a hot shower is a blessing.

We will have a very simple Christmas, and we will be thankful.

So as you celebrate Christmas please say a prayer for those less fortunate, and count all the blessings that you take for granted every day.

I wish you all a mellow, satisfying Christmas.

Rosie.

cathedral in Domfront France

Cherishing every moment

22 Friday Nov 2019

Posted by in Change is a coming, My family and other furry creatures, My home, Simple things, The adventures of living life in the French countryside, The continuing adventure, Us

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These are two of our cats (we only have three left now!) Molly, the cat ‘doing the washing’, and Daisy, the cat being washed. I took this photo yesterday as I sat at our window in our wingback chairs blogging.

I am cherishing the moment. You see Molly is nearly twenty years old, and we know that the time is coming that she will leave us. In the past two weeks alone I have shed tears for her. As her condition deteriorates I have thought I would wake up and she would be gone. But every morning when we come downstairs she has rallied, and gives a loud miaow.

On Saturday she took a turn for the worse, and wouldn’t eat. We always said that when she wouldn’t eat it was time, all day she just lay in front of the fire. So we topped it up with logs before we went to bed, just to make sure she was warm.

RD got up on Sunday morning (our ‘have our tea in bed day’) because he didn’t want me to find her; but when he came down she was up, perky, and shouting; she ate a bowl of food and had two plates of milk and cream! (She can have what she wants now, in her limited time).

But I know, after holding her close on Tuesday when she deteriorated again that our days left together are few.

Twenty years is a long time.

Rosie

This poignant time

03 Sunday Nov 2019

Posted by in For the live of dogs, Reflections, The continuing adventure, The good, the bad and the ugly., The seasons

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Since you went away the days grow long
And soon I’ll hear old winter’s song
But I miss you most of all my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall

Anyone who reads this blog knows that I love Autumn, for its colours, for what it symbolises: letting go; and because it never fails to remind me that everything must change. That yearly reminder that things must die to make room for the new. It has that constant air of poignancy for what was, for the time that has past and for the things we have lost.

But this year it has been particularly poignant. We both adore our dogs, we believe that dogs teach you about unconditional love, and we are both members of some social media sites that celebrate the Welshie breed, with their smiling faces, and love of cuddles, and wickedly stubborn temperament.

I recently wrote about the tragic death of Dylan the Welshie puppy who was counted as part of our family, but since her death two other young pups have died in tragic circumstances, one was drowned by a goose, and the other, just fourteen months old, was hit by a car. As I write this now my eyes brim with tears for the loss, and for the pain that all those left behind feel. So this year when I look out on the grey rainy days that we have here, and the leaves and walnuts falling from the trees, I am reminded, yet again, that where there is life there is death; there can be no life without it.

“the longest-lived and those who die soonest lose the same thing. The present. The present is all that they can give up since that is all you have and what you do not have, you cannot lose.”

Marcus Aurelius

Treasure every moment, treasure every sunbeam, every raindrop, every rainy day. Hold those close to you tight.

Rosie

Autumn leaves written by Songwriters: Giorgio Canali / Francesco Magnelli / Gianni Maroccolo / Massimo Zamboni / Giovanni Lindo Ferretti

A feeling of disbelief and incredible sadness

14 Monday Oct 2019

Posted by in For the live of dogs, Friends, My family and other furry creatures, The continuing adventure

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Last year I shared a series of posts from our wonderful, crazy summer, with our friend Karen and her naughty little bundle of mischief Dylly Dyls, the puppy Welsh Terrier that had joined Karen’s life the year before. Karen blogged about the antics of Princess Wiglet and Dylan, they were best buddies, on her blog Dylans Welshie world.

We celebrated birthdays, and the world cup, hosted here in France, and the dogs had a summer of chasing each other, swimming in the pool, playing tuggies with mops (Dylan’s favourite toy in all the world) and Dylan loved riding on the lawn mower with uncle Richard, with whom she celebrated her first birthday on the same day.

The catchphrase of the simmer was ‘Dylan what have you got in your mouth.’ That puppy loved to pick Up everything, and I mean everything up in her mouth, and run with it. Sticks, socks, pants, phones, lighters, packets, you name it. Dylan was a one year old bundle of mischief.

Punctuated within all of this fun and frolic was lots of sleeping, as you do, wherever you fall.

But as autumn drew in things changed and Dylan had a new family. By the late spring she and her mum were off on a new adventure: to live in Spain with her new family and new baby sister, who although a pup was five times bigger than her. But that didn’t deter Dilly Dilly, oh no! She was top dog, and shouted at everyone as they swam in the pool. She spent hours with lots of other dogs, and life was the best.

Dylan was my friends baby, she saved her at a time when so much had changed. Along came this little, fat tempestuous puppy, who was nearly named Chubster, and she gave Karen’s life new meaning and form; and as dogs always do she gave her unconditional love, and taught Karen about giving love, and allowing herself to be vulnerable.

Last Thursday Dylan and her sister pulled down a bin bag that her loving parents thought had been put out of reach. When they were found Dylan had eaten chicken bones, and despite Karen’s determined attempts, the little bugger swallowed them. They perforated her intestines and Dylan collapsed. She was rushed to the vets where Karen pleaded with them to do all they can. But sadly Dylan died in Karen’s arms. Karen could not bring herself to tell us until yesterday, she believed that if she wrote it down it would make it real.

We spoke today, both cried together, I am still crying now. Karen? She is lost, and distraught, and caught in the grip of despair. I wrote years ago about how Harley nearly died, and how a guardian angel saved his life. That angel was Karen, Harley would not be here if it were not for her. What do you say to the person who saved your dog, but nothing could be done to save theirs? Where do you begin? Just listen I suppose, which I will always do. We feel so powerless, so weak, there are no words that can offer comfort.

Dylan had the most adventurous life in her two years of life. She spent a summer with us in France, lived in England, lived in Spain, swam in pools, met new dogs, and made people fall in love with her wherever she went. She persuaded uncle Richard to squirt cream directly into her mouth, chased cats, pulled cupboards down, and had me running after her as she ran straight into our French neighbours house. She took on cows, and sometimes Harley and Wiglet. She was such a little bugger.

She left too soon, there is nothing more to be said. But she taught us all so much, and will leave a lasting legacy, and so many memories.

I am writing this in homage of Dylan for my friend. There is nothing more I can do.

Farewell Dylan, run free on rainbow bridge my darling.

Auntie Moira

The leaning cherry, what tales you could have told

26 Tuesday Feb 2019

Posted by in My family and other furry creatures, My home, The seasons

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Nearly four years ago when we moved here we were told to chop down this old cherry tree. But she was covered in leaves and we didn’t have the heart. So Rich propped her up with a length of pine, and every year she came back, with her beautiful blossom under which we sat drinking wine

And her copious amounts of cherries. She fed the birds, she fed us.

Last year Rich set up the swinging seat I bought him (for 3€) for his birthday from it’s boughs. But when I look at it now I can see her leaves were dropping in July, and I believe she was dying even then.

Just last month I took a picture of it and you can see where the seat was. But then we noticed two weeks ago that if you decided to sit in the seat, your bum would be scraping the floor! The hooley from a few weeks ago had wreaked the final damage on her that she could take.

So Rich removed the seat and we deliberated on whether it was time to let the old girl go. She had some buds, but some parts had died and her trunk was sounding hollow. We didn’t have the heart to chop her down, but had a dilemma with the Welshies.

But as we considered what to do nature took the decision out of our hands. Yesterday, on a bright, warm, sunny day, as my washing blew in the wind

As we chopped and split yet more logs getting ready for our new venture, there was suddenly the sound of loud cracking and snapping. The Welshies stopped in their tracks and Rich shouted ‘that’s the tree’ as an almighty crack and the sound if splitting filled the air and down she came.

It was time to let the old girl go.

Poor Rich, he had just put his chainsaw away, after the chain became too loose, only to get it back out. More wood!

so in the evening sunshine we took two garden chairs up by the tree cracked open a beer, and said goodbye. We felt sad though, that cherry could tell so many stories, but nature showed us that sometimes things come to an end. It has changed the whole landscape of our garden. Everything must change.

Moisy

Counting my blessings: Day 5

28 Friday Dec 2018

Posted by in My family and other furry creatures, My home, Reflections, Simple things, The continuing adventure

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This is Molly, my beautiful girl. Nineteen years ago, just after Rich and I got married I found a little ginger female kitten behind our shed; even to this day Rich does not believe me, and thinks I actually went and collected her from somewhere! Sadly Pussy Willow, as she became known, died when she was just two years old, but not before she had kittens, who were born in our cupboard; and we kept two of them. One, Milly Kitten, was a reclusive cat, who liked to be outside most of her life. She died at the ripe age of thirteen, after spending a year sleeping indoors every night. We loved her dearly, and Molly missed her

Molly was a different story, she loves the sunshine, but hates the cold, rain or snow. She is now very old, eighteen and a half years, but all the time she eats, and sleeps (pretty much all the time now) we know she is okay. She has had her moments over the past year but she still loves life and she is a blessing that we count every day.

She was the cat who lay beside me, with Snowy our Westie when war had devastated our lives (see my other blog http://makingthisbetter.com) they literally made a sandwich either side with me as the filling and she loves me still.

Molly kitten is my blessing.

Over the years other kittens have been brought into the house starting with this pretty little thing: Diddyman dod. She is part of our story because we gave her a home a year after ‘The War’; she was our band aid baby and only Five weeks old when we got her. Molly adopted her and taught her all she knows; we can’t believe she is ten years old, time has just flown.

Then we got Daisy, we brought her home with the shopping, as you do! Tom had gone to university and she was our ’empty nest’ baby. She is a huge, but incredibly gentle cat, just happy with life, and a bowl of milk and cream.

Sadly our last baby: Tinky Tiny Tilly, or Tillybet, was a naughty one, who gave Daisy so much confidence, they were the Black Hand Gang. But Tilly went out one day in March this year and never came home, and my eyes still fill with tears for my baby. You can read all about her in my post Tinky Tiny Tilly.

All of these cats, including sofa loaf, (A story of hardship, serendipity, and love -Sophie The Sofa Loaf) are our blessings, they make us laugh, and I know they will make us cry, just as Tilly has; and Molly will. But if you don’t open your heart to love, even knowing it will cause you pain; then you have not lived. It is all a blessing.

More and more are starting to share their blessings, spread the word let’s take people into the new year on a positive. Please share.

If you want to visit my other blog you can find it here https://makingthisbetter.com

Moisy

Change – Windswept gardens and saving lives

12 Monday Nov 2018

Posted by in Change is a coming, My family and other furry creatures, The adventures of living life in the French countryside, The continuing adventure, The seasons

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Only last week I posted this picture or our garden.

This weekend the hooley escalated to what looked like a typhoon, we literally felt as if we were enveloped by the storm, the rain and hail were so torrential that you could not see the field beyond our garden. Winter is letting us know that he is on the way!

All week our new roof has been fantastic, but this rain was exceptional and just found the couple of small flaws that we knew would be there, because such is the case with a new roof! Of course they were where the concrete seal had been added and are easily remedied; after not having a roof at all for three years we have learned not to worry about small things – we literally ‘don’t sweat the small stuff¬’

But the trees and the gardens took a battering and on Sunday morning we woke up to find the old heavy oak door (that had once been our front door) that we had propped against the tree of Tao ( to give the impression that you could walk through a maginal door and into another secret garden – I love a bit of folkelore and mysticism me!) had been blown over and the oak bench in front of her had literally been flipped upside down.

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As you can see the trees have been undressed of their leaves and in just two days the door is virtually covered! As is the rest of the garden.

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The serial killer known as ‘Wiglet’ was however in full form. On Friday she had a wonderful day with me, as I collected the twigs for kindling she protected me from anything that may be lurking in the branches that I was pulling out from the huge pile we have to deal with. Harley was with me too, laying at my feet, but she was snuffling backwards and forwards in the twigs (as far as her fat bum would take her) and behind them. She disappeared for a while and when I went down to load the logs up and into the wheelbarrow to bring in to the house I found that she had left me a present – a big fat dead rat! I told you had nothing to worry about!!

Sadly though this meant that she had got a taste for murder and after the wet weather on Friday night she set her sights back on poor Claudy the cockerel. Rich had to go and get her from the fence by the chicken coop on Friday night and on Saturday morning, whilst drinking my first cup of tea of the day in my jimby jambies, I heard a noise. I quickly got up and opened the door and could hear screaching and clucking – she had got back in with the chickens, by managing to move a post that was pliable in the soft wet ground!

Without further thought I ran up to the chicken coop – remembering what Rich had said about making a loud bang with something,because Wiglet does not like loud bangs, in fact they terrify her. Needs must I grabbed my prop from my washing line and, dreading what I was going to see, headed for the chicken coop gate. But a surprise awaited me – whilst she was giving Claudy the odd nip, she had not gone in for the kill and the other chicken was also alive (all but terrified!). I quickly banged on the corrugated iron of the shed and she ran to the corner of the coop giving Claudy time to squeeze himself between the new chicken house and the fence so she could not get him.

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I shouted at her ‘arretez’ which means stop in French, and she answers to French commands better than English in times like these. To my surprise – after having a quick lunge at the other chicken – she sat and did as she was told. There was no killing frenzy she actually just stopped! Rich came up and got her out, because although she had got in through the tiny gap she had made she could not get her fat arse back out!

A decision had to be made: I love Claudy, he is a stunning cockerel and chats to you whenever you go up to the coop, but if we keep him his days are numbered, because she will kill him one day. It is a bit like a lion, it goes after the one wilderbeast no matter how many are there, and Wiglet has had a taste of Claudy!

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So with heavy heart Rich and I contacted a friend who has just re-homed ten battery hens, he is an animal lover and he has agreed to re-home them both, giving them a safe haven from the serial killer. I will be sad to see them go, it is the end of an era. Butm we have to think of Claudy and the one remaining girly, and, as we know, all things change; and this season is the one to remind us of that like no other.

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I know! Butter wouldn’t melt right?!

Moisy

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